


Not That Guy

by flyingthesky



Series: Fashionable Hats [1]
Category: Glee, High School Musical (Movies)
Genre: Emotional Baggage, M/M, Musical References, Podfic Available, Resolved Sexual Tension, Sex, Singing, remember when glee was good?, yeah me either
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-03-04
Updated: 2010-03-04
Packaged: 2021-01-29 17:10:40
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,114
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21413707
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/flyingthesky/pseuds/flyingthesky
Summary: They fit together like puzzle pieces—though if they were supposed to originally is anyone's guess.
Relationships: Ryan Evans/Kurt Hummel, past Kurt Hummel/Finn Hudson, past Ryan Evans/Chad Danforth
Series: Fashionable Hats [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1543693
Kudos: 14





	Not That Guy

Kurt first sees him on-stage at a dance club. He's all glam and flash and even through the shitty, overtly heterosexual song he's singing, Kurt can tell that he's got no questions about who he is. There's something burning in his eyes and it's not for anyone in the room. No, it's for someone far away and far gone. Kurt can tell—he knows that look like the back of his hand because it's a look he himself has worn a lot. Maybe always.

Their eyes meet for a single instant and Kurt knows that the glamorous rocker on stage saw the same thing. They're both looking for something they can't have. The moment only lasts a moment, though, because then a black, pin-striped fedora is being pulled low—shading the guy's eyes—and Kurt knows the connection is gone. It's not like it matters that much anyway. Kurt knows how to have fun without meeting his soulmate in a club throbbing with bass.

\----

Ryan sees him again in Starbucks when he's going in to grab something for Kelsi so she doesn't fall over and die of starvation (and maybe dehydration). Just as Ryan is looking over, the kid is looking up and their eyes meet for the second time. Ryan wants to go over and say something to him, but his name is being called and he really has to get Kelsi her nutrition or she'll never take a break and just relax.

It's okay, at any rate, because Ryan has a feeling that he'll see the kid again. There's just something drawing them together, trying to give them an opportunity. It's a feeling that most people might call Destiny. Ryan calls it kismet.

\----

As it turns out, the guy transfers into one of his dance classes. When the guy walks in, Kurt looks up and their eyes meet for the third time. Kurt is going to walk over and say something, tell him that they should really stop meeting like this—anything to shake the weird feeling he gets when the guy is around. He's not glam rock at the moment, but he's glitter and elegance all the same. That same something is burning in his eyes and Kurt can tell it has nothing to do with anyone in the room.

He sits down for his stretches and doesn't pause when a bag is dropped next to him and a body occupies the space beside him.

“Hey,” the guy says, “my name is Ryan.”

“Pleased to meet you, Ryan. I'm Kurt.”

\----

They're fast friends, though neither brings up what brought them together. It's something they don't need to talk about. They know that it's what ties them together and they don't talk about their personal lives that much. It's just not something they do.

It's two months before it comes up, actually. They're sitting on the couch in Ryan's apartment watching CATS because it is Ryan's favorite thing and Kurt picked the movie last time. The remains of their dinner—Chinese take-out from the place on the corner—are scattered across the table and everything is peaceful. Until Ryan's cellphone goes off.

Ryan takes one look at the cellphone and then pauses the movie before answering the call.

“You are lucky I love you so much,” Ryan says into the phone, “because I was watching _CATS_. You owe me dinner for this.”

There's a pause while Ryan presumably listens to the person on the other end of the line and the look on Ryan's face makes Kurt want to pull him into a hug and kiss his forehead before telling him it's all going to be okay. Ryan covers his face with a hand and leans back on the couch in a way that Kurt somehow knows means that he wants to cry but isn't going to.

“I can't do that, Chad. I'm sorry, but I just—“

Because Kurt sees how much this conversation is killing Ryan, he takes the phone from Ryan without asking and clear his throat.

“Forgive me for being rude, but whatever it is you asked is beyond Ryan's capacities and it would be appreciated if you would leave him alone.”

“Who,” the voice on the other end of the line asks, “are you?”

“My name is Kurt Hummel,” Kurt replies easily, “and no one pushes a Hummel around.”

Before the the voice has a chance to reply, Kurt has hung up and started the movie up again. Out of the corner of his eye, Kurt sees Ryan put his hat down on the table and bury his face in his hands. Kurt pauses the movie again and slides over to Ryan.

“I find that singing about problems helps quite a bit.”

Ryan laughs, without any cheer, “At this point? That would probably only make it worse.”

“Tell me about it.”

Ryan looks up and he's about to cry.

“_There’s a moment you know . . . you’re fucked—_  
Not an inch more room to self-destruct.  
No more moves—oh yeah, the dead-end zone.  
Man, you just can’t call your soul your own.”

There is a silence—not a awkward silence, just one that is—before Kurt sighs.

“In high school I was in love with a guy named Finn. Someone once told me that they would always be ahead of me because even though he didn't love them either, they were at least a girl. I never told her that I sucked Finn off once in the locker room so I was, in fact, higher than her. In the end, it still didn't matter because he was painfully straight. I assume your story is something similar?”

“You could say that.” Ryan shrugs. “You could also say that I was in love with a guy named Chad who was also in love with me until he realized that maybe he was in love with my twin sister and asked me to help him mix a CD for her.”

\----

Ryan doesn't know how it happens, but Kurt is straddling him and lifting his face to survey it. Automatically, Ryan has a hand on Kurt's hip to steady him. Suddenly, Kurt is swooping down to kiss him. Momentarily, Ryan's other hand is trying to tug Kurt in closer. Shyly, Kurt pulls away and looks down at Ryan. Quietly, Ryan leans forward and rests against Kurt's chest.

“Once,” Kurt says as he runs his fingers through Ryan's hair, “Finn and his band of jocks nailed all of my lawn furniture to my roof.”

“No one messes with you when you own half the town,” Ryan whispers—not sure if Kurt can hear or cares, “but messing with your heart is an entirely different matter.”

Kurt doesn't say anything, just kisses Ryan's forehead and hugs him close. And then, because it's the easiest thing to do in the world, he sings.

“_That hatchet-faced hag who's pointing at you with a sneer -_  
You don't see her.  
Those giggling girls with the whispers they want you to hear -  
You don't hear them.  
The boy with the spitball behind you, if you suddenly turn -  
Oh look, he's lost his nerve.”

\----

They're both too prissy to just fuck on the couch and this is understood the way the breathing being necessary is understood. It takes a while to cross the ten feet from the couch to Ryan's bedroom—Ryan blames Kurt (“This hat costs more money than you could afford.”) and Kurt blames Ryan (“This sweater is Hugo Boss, watch it.”), but they get there all the same.

It's a slow process, really, because each cares way more about their clothes than should be humanly possible. Ryan is placing his in the laundry and Kurt is folding his neatly, setting them on Ryan's night stand with an inane amount of care.

They meet on the bed without a word and it's hard to tell who's hands are where for a moment. Then, they fall into a rhythm. It's syncopated, because neither Ryan or Kurt is the kind of person to give up control, but it's there in the slow touches. They try to tell each other, through wandering fingers and whispered nonsense, that _this_ is what they saw in each other that night at the club. _This_ is what they've been craving so desperately that they never talk about it.

Fingers tracing aimless patterns down pale skin and kissing ghosting down skin inch by inch. A hand in hair and lips crushing together in a fruitless fight for dominance. It's impossible to tell which limbs belong to who and they're both fighting for dominance. Because, even though they don't generally do the fucking, they want control here. They each want the other to know that they've been marked. They are now the property of another and they're not going to be let go any time soon.

_Mine_. The word is whispered from Ryan to Kurt or Kurt to Ryan. They're nearly one person at this point—split children of the sun wrapped up in each other and trying trying _trying_ so hard to put themselves back together. Touch kiss tug pull mine yours ours hands hair lick trace—one.

The rhythm between them settles, because they don't need to fight for power anymore. Kurt acquiesces—the unspoken condition being that they do this again in the very near future and Ryan will acquiesce. That's all there is to it, honestly. Give and take.

\----

Ryan's hips buck forward, only to be held in place by hands pressing down firmly. Kurt's got his pretty lips wrapped around Ryan's cock and his tongue swirling around the head and Ryan had almost forgotten how fucking awesome it is to get a blowjob from someone who _knew_ what they were doing. His hips attempt to buck forward again and Kurt looks up at him from under heavy lashes and pulls away. Ryan almost whines—almost is an important word there—but forgets as a condom is being slid onto him and Kurt is asking him where, exactly, he keeps the lube.

There's a half-coherent response that's obviously coherent enough for Kurt because lube is being pressed into his hand and without too much more thought, Ryan is stretching Kurt—or trying to, as Kurt is pressed open-mouthed kisses to his neck and sucking. It'll bruise, but it's not like it matters. It's nothing that Ryan hasn't dealt with before and it's nothing a little concealer can't cover up, although Ryan might just wear it as a badge of honor. Something proclaiming “I fucked Kurt Hummel” to the—there's a high, needy sound coming from one of them, but it's hard to tell who. Maybe it's both of them. Kurt's voice is in Ryan's ear, slightly raspy but still so so so beautiful.

“Hurry. Up.”

It's a command that's easy to obey, so Ryan does. He reverses their positions gently and presses a kiss to Kurt's neck as he pushes forward. Kurt sucks in a breath and Ryan distracts him with a kiss, which Kurt gives himself to readily. Of their own accord, Kurt's legs wrap themselves around Ryan's waist and pull him forward. They move. It's shouldn't surprise Ryan, but Kurt _sings_ when he's being fucked. Not beautiful songbird singing but raw, beautiful noise—the music of the night—that spills from Kurt's lips as Ryan keeps time using the movement of their bodies as the metronome.

They do not move in perfect synch because some part of each still wants control, still wants to be the absolute center of attention, but they're in synch. They fall into place like pieces of a puzzle that were missing by being right in front of you—or pieces of a puzzle that have been carved carefully to fit in spaces they weren't meant to. At this point, they've forgotten why they fit together but it's okay. It's all okay because Kurt's crying out and making a mess on the Egyptian Cotton sheets but fuck if it matters because Ryan's making a mess too and then they collapse, untangling and becoming two separate people once again. They lie there like that for a minute before Ryan tosses the condom and pulls a blanket over them, completely ignoring whatever Kurt is saying about skin care.

“In the morning, sugar. For now, just sleep.”

When sunlight finds its way into the room, it's a pretty sure bet that they will be sticky gross sore tired possibly regretful. While moonlight highlights them in vivid chiaroscuro, though, none of that matters. One of them whispers goodnight—to the moon, maybe—and they fall into a dreamless sleep. Daylight may make everything seem cynical but for the moment, there is only moonlight.

**Author's Note:**

> actually, glee was never good. anyway podfic available for download [here](https://drive.google.com/open?id=1nBRcsdRwkuFBpvMrcgruS6FZ6jxHlZ_T). it's not very good, being as it's nearly as old as this fic.


End file.
